


Streetwalker

by julliel



Series: Streetwalker [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Prostitution, Skinny Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2014-08-16
Packaged: 2018-02-13 09:30:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2145687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julliel/pseuds/julliel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Can you afford me?” She asks it as a matter of fact, but Steve can't help but bristle at the unintended insult. </p><p>The indignation rises up in his belly like a fire. “Try me.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Streetwalker

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a 500-word drabble. I don't know what happened.

**November**

Steve walks down the sidewalk, notebook in hand. Its bound spine already fraying at the ends matches the worn, hand-me-down scarf wrapped around his neck. He huffs as he walks, and his breath shows in the air with little puffs of white.

 

He stops at the corner, waiting for the bus. Across from him on the other street corner stands the Woman. She's dressed in thigh-high boots and a skimpy dress, always the same uniform no matter the weather.

 

He hears the whispers of the old ladies making their way home from an evening mass. “Streetwalker.” “Prostitute.” “Whore.” The Woman stands with her head held high like she can't hear the words, even goes so far as to shoot them a sly smile when a customer approaches her for a service. They gasp, scandalized, and internally Steve cheers at the sight of her gumption though he'll worry for her no matter how she reacts.

 

Steve knows her. He knows he does. He sees her everyday right at magic hour, when the sun starts to set and the once blue sky burns a hellish red then fades into a deep purple. It's not bright nor is it too dark, and Steve wishes it was like this 24/7 so he can fully capture everyone and everything in this light.

 

Everyday at this hour, she stands at the corner between Remy's Deli and Tony's Auto Parts. Everyday without fail, someone will drive by and pay her for the night (or the next few hours because Steve definitely sees her come back to her spot on the same night) and the cycle will happen again. It's only when the sun starts signaling dawn that she walks home, wherever that may be.

 

He should avoid her, ignore her. That Woman's trouble with capital T (as Bucky would say) but Steve can't help the attraction. Because he knows her.

 

He sees her every other day when he visits the local library. She's in a different section each time but always with her eyes wide with interest as if the knowledge would get inside her brain quick if she would but open up the gateways. He tries not to be a creep (tries very hard). He keeps his distance though he always manages to get close enough to see the details of her person.

 

Steve can see the different colors of her glasses. They shoot a vibrant glow around her eyes if the light hits them the right way. He knows her lipstick is always a dark, bloody red and never fades no matter how she bites and nibbles on her lips when she's deep in thought. She dresses just as gaudy in here as she does the outside. No pays her any mind though. This is a sanctuary. Their sanctuary.

 

He thinks today is the day he can talk to her. Tell her how lovely she looks from where he stands. Remark on how this perfect sunlight casts a heavenly aura around her. He thinks he should say something beautifully romantic and poetic (“or something crock full of shit,” says Bucky. Steve just hits him because what does he know about romancing women? All he does is sleep with them.)

 

But a black luxury car comes by, and it's only a matter of time until she get in-- away from sight and away from Steve.

 

** December **

“Hey, I know you.”

 

“Uhh, what?” No one said Steve is smooth with the women.

 

“You're always in section 600 in the library. Art & Art History.”

 

“Yes. Yes, I am.” Silence. And more silence.

 

If one listens closely, though, they can hear Steve mentally punching himself in the face.

 

“What happened there?” She points to his black eye, then gives him a once over with her eyes. He can assume what she sees. A pale, skinny kid with more scrapes and bruises than is probably healthy for someone of his disposition.

 

Steve bites at his lip. How could he tell her he got into a fight with some guys who were insulting her? And that he lost. Badly. He's not sure how she would take it. She would either pity him or sneer at the thought. What could he possibly be thinking going around picking fights for a woman he doesn't know? So he comes up with the first thing that comes to mind.

 

“Some alley cat didn't like me?” Nice one. Much more impressive than the truth. Definitely.

 

“Must've been a big fucking cat.” She flicks her cigarette away and crushes it under the tiny point of her heel. The silence makes its way between them again. Steve worries that this one opportunity to talk to her will end in a crash and burn. The possibility increases as neither of them talk. Steve just stands there sweating bullets, and Darcy stands there scanning the traffic to spot her next customer.

 

Steve finally manages to stammer out. “H-how much do you cost?”

 

She raises her eyebrow at him, and he wishes he can swallow the words back again. But he stands by his inquiry (as dumb as it was).

 

“Can you afford me?” She asks it as a matter of fact, but Steve can't help but bristle at the unintended insult.

 

The indignation rises up in his belly like a fire. “Try me.”

=

Steve gives her a week's worth of pay.

 

They sit, kissing, on his bed. Bucky's bed is across from his and in the emptiness Steve can imagine his friend teasing him because he knows this has got to be one of his stupider ideas. (But thank God Bucky is off on another playdate with his “lady friends” because he'd never let Steve live this down.) The Woman- Darcy as he found out earlier- drapes herself over him. They're nearly the same height but she's got more mass so she overtakes him on the thankfully clean sheets. His thoughts are speeding by a hundred miles a second but he can't comprehend a single one of them in this overload of sensation.

 

Darcy slips her tongue inside his mouth, and Steve feels like his mind just might short-circuit. He finds it in himself to push her away as gently as he could.

 

“You want me to slow down?” she whispers against his lips. The little puffs of breath that land on his own distract him from making proper sentences.

 

“No, I just...” He trails off, removes her hands from his person. Darcy huffs with irritation and flops backwards onto the bed.

 

“If you don't wanna fuck me, then what'd you hire me for?”

 

Steve gulps, nervous or unsure of giving her the truth. “I just wanted to give you a day off.” His truthful answer catches her off guard. “Merry Christmas.” He turns to her with his trademark, self-deprecating smile, the one that lifts on only one corner of his mouth.

 

She gapes at him. “You're kidding.”

 

“No, ma'am.” She must see the honesty in his eyes because she smiles. Genuine and bright and it's probably the most beautiful thing he'll see, Steve thinks. He's so fucked over this woman already.

 

“Well, let me give you a Christmas present too.”

 

Her hand travels down his chest to his stomach to the worn buckle of his hand-me-down belt. Steve puts up a token protest, but who was he to deny the lady?

=

Every time they meet up, Steve has his payment and a new book ready for her. She always lights up at the new book, and leaves the forgotten money on the vanity drawer.

 

**January**

They're at Darcy's place now. She's got a sizable and reasonably well-off clientele so her small apartment has a fireplace she can afford to keep alive for the rest of the night. Steve suspects she can maybe even become a politician escort or a mob boss's girl if she put her mind to it. Luckily for him, Darcy's a bit lazy and likes her regular spot on the street corner.

 

And maybe she has thing for the scrawny guy who comes by and pays her for her time-- conversation and cuddling, instead of blowjobs and sex though she likes to give him those things too. Never let it be said she had terrible customer service. (That's what Steve thinks she does it for, anyway.)

 

“Honey, you're gonna go broke at the rate this is going.” Darcy bends over to put her new book, an illustrated one written on the joys of art, to add to her ever-growing pile of books Steve gifts her. Then slyly takes her panties off. She catches him staring at the peek of her lower lips, and smirks at his obviousness. “Not that I'm complaining.”

 

“Um, before we start, uh. I have something for you.”

 

“Hm? You already gave me the painting one.”

 

“This is... different.” From behind him, Steve holds out his pile of notebooks, filled to the brim with little sketches and doodles (mostly of her). He hopes to the highest power that she'll find them a little flattering and not at all weird.

 

“I just- I want you to have these.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I'm leaving, and I don't know when I'm coming back.” He gulps. “If at all.”

 

“They... they accepted you?”

 

“Yeah.” He chokes out a forced laugh. “I can't believe it either.” They don't speak of all the other times the army has rejected him, no matter how ardent or frequent his application. There were many times when Steve's too dejected and morose to get it up, hating his body and its long list of limitations. Then Darcy wraps herself around him and calls him perfect. She probably says it so he'll keep coming back, but he clutches her back and pretends that she genuinely likes him.

 

Steve runs a shaky hand through his long bangs, pulling at them in nervousness. Darcy holds it away and tangles his fingers with her. She grips him tight like he'll drift away if she so much as loosens her grip.

 

“You're reckless as hell, you dumb kid.” The words are harsh, but the feeling behind them softens with her gentle worry. She straddles his thin hips, bare pussy brushing against the concave part of his stomach. “Come back in one piece, okay?”

 

Steve opens his mouth to tell her that he can't promise her anything, but she swallows his excuses into her mouth and shuts him up with a heady kiss.

 

**February**

Steve goes through with Project Rebirth. It goes well and all events take place. He gets paid more than he did when he was a pint-sized foot soldier. But now he's a captain- _Captain America_ and is getting paid a generous amount. He requests that some of the money gets sent to Rebecca Barnes in Brooklyn, and another set amount to Darceline Lewis the next town over.

 

Someone involved with the money wiring has a loose tongue, and there are rumors spread that Cap's keeping two mistresses apart from each other and two-timing both. The Howling Commandoes know better though, and pay no mind to the drivel passing down the grape vine. If only the rest of them knew the truth, but it's no skin off his back if they don't bother finding out the real story behind it.

 

At night, Steve wonders what Darcy would think of his new body. Would she be more attracted to him? Would she lump him in with the other meat heads that like to holler at her from their cars? Would she even remember him? He hopes he'll get the chance to find out soon.

=

Darcy receives all of the money that Steve sends over. They stay in rolled bundles under her mattress. She can't find it in herself to spend a single penny of it. She's never been some man's kept little pet, and she's not about to start now! She can get by quite well on her own. But that's not really the cause of it. If she were prompted to explain it, Darcy would probably have to say that guilt keeps her from using the gifts.

 

That if she doesn't spend it that means the money's not there. And if the money's not there, then that means there's no skinny punk out there trying to win a war when he can't even win a back-alley brawl.

 

It's denial. All denial. Darcy keeps going back to her street corner.

 

**March – April – May**

These are supposed to be the happy months. The spring months. The time when life regenerates from the death-like sleep of winter.

 

Steve is constantly busy but miserable on the rare times when he has a chance to breathe without someone wanting something from him.

 

Darcy's not happy either. She stops coming to the street corner and starts living off of the money under her mattress.

 

**June**

They give him leave. Finally.

 

Steve wastes no time to find the woman on the corner, but she's gone and no one knows where she spends her time these days. He thinks he knows.

 

He goes to the library. The smell of aging pages and fraying bindings fill his senses. The dusty glow of the afternoon sun makes this place look like a painting instead of real life. He wonders which aisle he'll find her in. Does she still flit from one section to another? Does she even come here anymore?

 

It suddenly hits Steve that Darcy didn't have to wait for him. That they've made no promises to each other. For all he knows, she could have moved the moment he shipped out, and that his money had been sent to an empty mailbox, a treasure trove to anyone with a peeping habit. His heart catches in his chest. It aches. He doesn't want to think unflattering thoughts about his lady love, but with each aisle coming up empty his imagination spirals downwards- she's gone, she left, she doesn't love him, she never has--

 

She's there. Right in his section. Aisle 600. Art & Art History.

 

She's just as he remembers her. Except maybe her hair is longer and her dress is shorter. He marvels at this and doesn't realize that just standing there, looking at her without saying anything, may make him seem like a creep.

 

“The fuck are you looking at, asshole?”

 

The venom drips with every word, and she doesn't even look up from her book. Darcy hasn't changed a bit. Steve doesn't know why this fact of all things causes him to laugh out loud (in the library! The place where he had always made every effort to be quiet in.)

 

“I missed you so much.”

 

Her head shoots up. Eyes wide with recognition.

 

“S-Steve?” A pause drifts between them for a moment, and in that infinite millisecond Steve thinks that this has been a mistake. He should've written her. Should've called. Maybe sent her a picture so she knows that it's him. He's Steve, her Steve. Why isn't she saying anything, doing anything?

 

Darcy launches herself at him with a shriek, arms and legs wrapping around his new body. Steve thinks he can stop worrying for right now.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I like skinny!Steve. I want more skinny!Steve/Darcy in my life.


End file.
